


Descent

by Marien



Category: Black Jewels series - Bishop
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marien/pseuds/Marien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for CiraArana in the Yuletide 2009 Challenge! Black Jewels trilogy, featuring Daemon/Lucivar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Descent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CiraArana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiraArana/gifts).



**Descent**

*Lucivar?*

The young Eyrien came awake easily, and all at once. The sour taste of the Queen's cheap brandy was still on his tongue. He sat up, spitting onto the silken sheets puddled on her floor, then reached for a pitcher of water on a nearby table. Pity that it wasn't enough to wash the taste of her out as well.   
The bitch still sprawled atop the pillows, asleep. The call had been on a spear thread, not meant for any female to hear.   
At any rate, even if she had been the right gender, Daemon had descended to the Red before he called to his brother. None of these pet Queens of Dorothea's was strong enough to sense anything.

*What is it, Bastard?* The nickname held no rancor.

*Are...you all right?*

Lucivar snorted. *_Lady_ Gavrile doesn't have any more stamina than she has brains. Drunk her under the table before she got more than a few sloppy kisses and gropes. I'm not hurt.* He wondered at Daemon's asking. The woman was a predator, plain and simple; vicious, greedy, taking as much pleasure in hurting  
the weaker Blood as she did riding a man's cock, but she was clumsy at it. Nor all that strong; she wore an Opal Jewel that was light rather than dark. Even with only his Birthright Jewel, he outranked her easily.

*You didn't come back to the rooms afterward.*

* I do that, and another of Dorothea's pets will just come pestering me. At least here I can get a few hours' peace and quiet before anyone dares to disturb me.*

Daemon paused. *You know why they're doing it now...*

Lucivar swallowed another mouthful of the cool water, before answering. *Yeah.*   
He set the cup down. Shoving a blanket off him, he got out of bed and began to walk toward a set of doors at the far end of the room.   
As he did, he straightened, snapping his wings open. They stretched out, batlike and dark, a gift from his mother's side of the family. Eyrien. The winged warriors.

No matter how superior the Terreillean Bloods thought themselves, Lucivar wouldn't have traded places with any of them, even for freedom from the damned Ring of Obedience.

They couldn't fly.

Sometimes, if they hadn't been so repulsive and determined to wallow in their own greed, or cruelty, he could almost have pitied them for that.   
He felt a familiar stinging at his groin and chuckled bitterly. Almost.

He did have to give them credit for teaching him a few very valuable lessons, in the past twenty-two years; including the ability not to feel pity for anyone anymore.

*Daemon, I'm not the one who needs to be worried most,* he said finally. *Look...Are you ready to make the Offering to the Darkness? Yes or no. Never mind what they say about it. I want to know how matters stand with you.*

He pulled the heavy door open, stepping out onto a balcony that overlooked snow-covered ground. He paused, lifting his face, feeling the winds against his skin. Relaxing, slightly, he launched himself straight upward, riding winds that would grow into a vicious blizzard in only a few hours' time. He couldn't have explained how he knew that, but he was as certain of it as of his own name. He relished the freedom, even the kiss of icy air over his flesh.

*Yes,* Daemon's answer was terse. *But Dorothea--*

The bitches--Dorothea, and the Eyrien High Priestess, Prythian--had met to discuss the possibility of Lucivar returning to Eyrien territory for an indefinite period of time.   
Alone.  
Having two 'intractable'. dark-Jeweled Warlord Princes at the same court was apparently more than the Hayllians felt prudent. The coming separation meant that neither Daemon nor Lucivar would be able to watch the other's back, as they'd done.

 

*Use the weapons you have,* Lucivar sent sharply. *You're always telling me that. Don't you listen? She has a chance at getting a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince on her leash. She's not going to pass it up. By now, she thinks she's safe from you.*

Sardonic, razor-edged laughter echoed down the thread. *Point taken.* Silence, then, *All right. Are you coming down?*

 

Lucivar chuckled grimly. *I needed clean air under my wings. I'll be down in a few minutes.*

* * *

Satisfied with that answer, Daemon Sadi turned away from the window. He looked down at himself critically, and smiled, a smile that gave away nothing of the hatred he felt for the women who sat across from him at the breakfast table.   
Dorothea smiled at him, lifting her cup of coffee. "How did you sleep, darling?" she asked sweetly.   
"Peacefully," Daemon answered in a cool tone, that suggested that the question was none of her damned business, and that she was utterly gauche for having mentioned it at all. Her smile faltered, but then the playful, flirtatious mask snapped back into place, like a layer of paint covering mildewed, rotting old wood.

Unlike Lucivar, Daemon found no amusement in the bedroom games played by Dorothea and her so-called First Circle. Oh, he knew all the steps to this dance, but no part of him was drawn to participate. Cold, dark, those were the words used to describe him, ice to Lucivar's fire.

"How was your errand to Pruul, Lady?" he asked,all courtesy and silky tones, glancing at Lady Prythian.

The Eyrien woman blinked, as if surprised to be addressed directly. Most pleasure slaves wouldn't have dared.

Daemon and Lucivar had never had any ambition to be like 'most' of the Blood on Dorothea SaDiablo's tether. He smiled at her, his eyes holding the warmth that he'd refused to offer Dorothea.

They engaged in small talk, bantering back and forth. He ignored the annoyance that tightened Dorothea's face, adding wrinkles that would have made her even more furious if she'd looked in a mirror. Daemon stayed carefully on the right side of deference, yet held Prythian's attention through the meal, his body language subtly making promises that he had no intention of keeping.

Yet, they always had to try, didn't they? Damned bitches.

"Do you have duties today?" he asked, after finishing most of his breakfast. "If not, Lucivar and I would be honored to show you more of the town."

Dorothea intervened. "Prythian, I meant to speak to you about another matter." She slanted Daemon a chillingly angry gaze. "I'll see you in my chambers, later."   
Dismissal. Daemon bowed mockingly, and pushed away from the table.   
He'd pay for the respite, he knew that. Everything had a price. Yet at least, he and his brother would have a chance to spend some time together, without being forced to dance attendance on the woman. He left the room, not replying to her comment.   
He walked down the hall, his temper barely held in check.

Dizziness and pain jabbed through his skull.   
What was..he staggered, almost losing his balance.

A man passing by stopped, and put a hand out to steady him. "You all right?"  
A stranger, one of Dorothea's guests from a nearby Territory--Shalador, Daemon thought it was---that hadn't yet accepted Hayll's "protection." The man was young, perhaps a few years Daemon's elder, and had odd, vivid green eyes.  
His touch burned. Daemon hissed through his teeth, and jerked away. The resulting chill was unexpectedly bleak, making him feel empty, wanting, despite his normal dislike of such closeness. Oh hells, he thought, as his mind caught up with his body's unthinking reactions.   
_Safframate. _  
Mother Night. How had he been stupid enough to drink something here without testing it first?   
"Bastard?" It was Lucivar's voice. The Eyrien was striding toward them. The Shalador Warlord prudently backed away, concern replaced by wariness...  
not soon enough.   
A Red shield snapped up around the stranger, created by Lucivar's Craft, just barely ahead of a surge of power that reduced most of the furniture in the hallway to shattered, half-melted fragments. Daemon snarled at them, lust changing to sudden, overwhelming anger; needing to hurt, to feel bones break instead of glass. _How dare you lay hands on me!_  
"Daemon!" Lucivar's voice raised to a shout.   
His shield held, but barely. Lucivar muscled past the Warlord and grabbed Daemon's shoulders, then cursed virulently at the scent on Daemon's breath, and the glassy look to his eyes.

* * *  
Lucivar dragged his brother outside, keeping the shield around both of them. It might look, to anyone who didn't know better, as if they were just having a brawl; not unusual among Hayllian Blood their age. They traded punches, kicks, mixed in with strikes from one or both of their Jewels.   
It wasn't, however. Daemon was doing his damnedest to rip Lucivar to pieces. And if this kept up, he stood a good chance of accomplishing it. Their struggle was rapidly draining his strength, and Daemon didn't seem to be faltering. The sight of blood dripping down Lucivar's side where a piece of shrapnel had caught him, seemed to have incited the Bastard to fix his aggression on the Eyrien.   
He paused, and then yanked Daemon forward, dropping the shield. The Winds were within reach. He stepped onto them, bringing Daemon along for the ride.   
They reemerged some three or four miles away from the house. No buildings. No one nearby to get hurt--except themselves.

Blood on snow.   
Air cold enough to burn, as he raised a fist.. One knockout punch, if he could land it, and--  
Daemon's hands locked around his throat, cutting off the Eyrien's breath in mid-inhalation.  
Lucivar broke free--barely-- with a vicious kick that would leave his opponent bruised, at best. *Daemon!* he roared. *Snap out of it!*   
The blankness in his brother's eyes didn't change.   
No good. The drug had had too long to take effect.   
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Was this what they'd had in mind after all? Break up the two of them by forcing one of them to kill the other?   
No. He couldn't allow that. He wouldn't.   
He had to get Daemon to focus on something else. But--  
Then he grimaced, as the obvious solution struck him. Use whatever weapons you have.   
"Fine," he whispered harshly. "You may hate me for this afterward, but you'll be alive."  
He backed away, deliberately, as if yielding the fight to a dominant male. Daemon lunged at him. The poison clouding his mind demanded action. Either violence, or--  
Lucivar let himself be trapped , Daemon's weight over him, and then reached up to cup his face. "Not close enough," he husked, kissing Daemon savagely. He let his own hunger color his body language, lust show in his eyes.   
Daemon stared down at him after Lucivar broke the kiss. His eyes were sleepy gold as he shoved Lucivar onto his back, tearing at the layers of clothing that separated them.  
Lucivar locked his inner barriers, even as he yielded. Feeling the anger in the air turning to arousal, he let himself think about nothing else. Just now, and the feel of skin against skin.   
Daemon's angry snarl turned to a purr, as his hold eased, and he lowered his mouth to Lucivar's throat.

He tried to remain uninvolved, but his body reacted to what Daemon was doing, unavoidable response. He managed to throw up an aural and sight shield for them, before rational thought fled under caressing, teasing tongue and hands...as Daemon's hands slid to the waistband of Lucivar's trousers, as Lucivar's teeth nipped at Daemon's lip...  
_  
And the abyss opened under them.   
A dream, or a vision? Impossible to be sure. They both found themselves standing on a precipice, staring down into the depths. Darkness, broken only by flashes of light, the colors those of the various Jewels. White and Yellow and dusky Rose above them, then a vivid Green, entwined with Sapphire, fading to blood--or Blood? Red, which finally gave way to Ebon Gray and Black far below.   
"Follow me,." Lucivar urged softly, feeling the urgency of the moment. They had to do this now, no second chances. Whether or not the normal rituals were followed, the Darkness would only let them take this descent once while they were wearing a single Jewel each. Fly, or fall. Win, or break. _

He held out a bloodied hand to his brother. After a brief second, Daemon clasped it.   
Down, and down, while back in the waking world, Lucivar shuddered as Daemon rode him to a climax, his own pleasure and the other man's as close as their bodies.   
Wings spread as he hit the Ebon-Gray. He felt resistance, and then yielding, and halted. Daemon released him, a brief final touch of his brother's mind, gratitude/pleasure/love/respect/concern, all meshed into a single Black thread, and continued into the shadows...

Daemon finally slid into unconsciousness, wrung out and sated, the urge to take or kill lessening.   
Lucivar remained awake, wings and arms wrapped about his brother's shoulders. He pushed sweat-soaked, dark hair away from Daemon's face, and sighed. He opened a hand, unsurprised to see an Ebon-Gray jewel resting in his palm.  
He vanished it, for the time being. Not that having the Jewel on him was going to conceal what had happened. Any of the Blood who had a working brain would be able to sense the difference in him. In both of them, he amended.

A faint, rueful smile curved his lips.   
The sound of footsteps alerted him to searchers before a pair of Warlords dropped into view. One was the Shalador male that had drawn Daemon's wrath, at the house.   
Dorothea hovered at a 'safe distance' behind them, attempting to look concerned. Her gloating smile vanished when Lucivar met her eyes. She took a step back, seeming unsettled, as he disentangled himself and stood.   
*Prince Yaslana?*   
He tensed.   
Not Dorothea, or Prythian.   
*I am Yairen. We met, briefly.* The other man's voice was dry. *Do you need a Healer?*   
No questions. He saw only compassion, even sympathy, in Yairen's gaze.   
*No,* Lucivar answered curtly. Even if he had, he wouldn't have trusted any Healer who had taken a contract with this Court. Not now. *And if you're wise, Prince, you'll keep this visit short, and return to your own Territory, before our 'Lady' decides to play with you or your family next.*

Yairen nodded. "Very well." He addressed Dorothea "It would seem your Court is less than peaceful, Lady. I'd like to reward Yaslana for his quick thinking, but after that, I believe it's best we take our leave."   
Dorothea seethed, but she couldn't very well refuse outright. Lucivar repressed a laugh.

*Reward?*

*I could bargain for you,* Yairen offered after a second. *Ask that you come back with us, for a time. Or both of you...*

*She'll never let him go,* Lucivar replied bleakly. *She'd kill me first. Or him. But--Do you think you could arrange for us to be away from her and her Court, for a day or two? Maybe say you're having Daemon perform some 'service' for you as apology'?"  
He had no doubt that there was no way the two brothers would be allowed to remain at the same Court, after this, he realized.   
The thought couldn't wipe away his pride, the moment's victory, but his eyes darkened in momentary anguish before he shoved emotion aside.

*Ahh.* Understanding lit Yairen's eyes. *I will.*   
Daemon was beginning to stir. Lucivar handed him his jacket; the rest was torn, bloodied rags. No use to anyone.   
The madness had left his eyes, when he got to his feet.

*Prick? I don't remember...what--*

*We survived. The rest doesn't matter. Come on.*

Arm in arm, they began to walk back to the residence. They were alive, and still together...for now.


End file.
